


Love is the voice under all silences (formerly, Safe In My Hands)

by MistressofHappyEndings



Series: more last than star [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, love them both anyway, so OOC a bit, soft just really soft - which considering Lambert is something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressofHappyEndings/pseuds/MistressofHappyEndings
Summary: Coën's worked himself too hard.  Lambert is there to keep him from getting lost.
Relationships: Lambert (The Witcher)/Coen (The Witcher)
Series: more last than star [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967638
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	Love is the voice under all silences (formerly, Safe In My Hands)

**Author's Note:**

> I've always like Coën - or at least the idea of him, since we don't get much of him. I also like Lambert. So, I thought, hey, why not put them together in a story. Just know that I messed with the canon timeline quite a bit, but all you really need to know is that Aiden is dead and Coën isn't. Enjoy!

As Coën lists more and more into the hold Lambert has around his waist, the younger Witcher knows it’s going to be one of those nights. He’s been expecting it really. For both their sakes, it a good thing he knows exactly what he needs to do. 

The pace they’ve been working has been brutal. One contract after another after another, each one more difficult and draining than the last, and no time in between for rest. Bruxae, wyverns, alghouls, fiends, more – these kinds of contracts wouldn’t normally be a problem for two experienced Witchers, but this region of the Continent seems particularly cursed, and the sheer numbers of these monsters has been enough to tax their strength and stamina to their limit. 

It has gotten so bad that Lambert – _Lambert_ – suggests as they stumble back to the village inn from their latest battle that maybe they should contact Eskel or Geralt – hell, even Letho – to help them clear out the infestation. 

Coën hasn’t voiced his opinion on this suggestion. The Griffin has borne the brunt of the past weeks more heavily than his companion, and it’s worried Lambert for a while now. Several of the past contracts required the use of more magic than the younger Witcher is capable of, so it had fallen to Coën to deal with those mostly on his own. Not that Lambert let him go alone – there was no way he was not going to be there to watch the other man’s back in any capacity he could, even it if was just to be there to drag him off the battlefield and to a warm, safe place afterwards to recover as much as they can before moving to the next contract. 

Not after he’s lost Aiden. Never, _ever_ again. 

Shaking his head to rid himself of that melancholy thought, Lambert shoulders his way through the door of the inn, more or less dragging Coën through with him. Thankfully, it’s midday, so there aren’t any witnesses to their less than triumphant return, save for the innkeeper. She looks up from where she’s wiping down the counter and clucks her tongue at the sight they make. 

“You two look like you’ve been through the wars,” the woman states, dropping the rag she’s using and coming around the corner towards them. 

Both Lambert and Coën are easily twice her age, but she regards the pair of them with a look of almost motherly concern on her face. She’s been nothing but kind to them since their arrival earlier this morning, not showing any of the kind of prejudice against Witchers so common in these small villages. Lambert can’t help but feel gratitude that he doesn’t have to deal with that kind of shit right now. It wouldn’t end well for any villagers and that’s not what Coën needs. 

The innkeeper pauses a few feet from them, taking in their bloodied and filthy forms, and nods her head decisively. “I’ve made up the first room on the left for you boys. I’ll bring up some food and get a bath ready for you in just a bit.” 

Lambert opens his mouth – to say what, he doesn’t really know – but she forestalls him with a raised hand. “It’s no trouble, Master Lambert, especially after all you and Master Coën have done. Those children would be dead, if not for you both. So, even though it’s not nearly enough, please consider this my thank you for ending that monster’s life. You will not pay for room, food, ale or bath while under my roof.” 

She makes a shooing motion with the raised hand. “Go on, now, get your friend upstairs. I’ve got water to heat, and it looks like you got wounds to tend to. If you need any help with that, please let me know. Our healer, Lettie, would be happy to take a look at you. One of the children you brought back is her grandchild.” 

Stunned by her generosity – and the fact that she remembers both their names and actually _uses_ them – Lambert does just that. It takes a bit of maneuvering to get them both of the narrow staircase, but he finally gets them up to their room. He lets go of Coën for just a moment, gently testing his balance to make sure he can stay upright on his own, and slings the bags that contain their belongings to the foot of the bed. There’s only the one bed, but it’s large enough for the both of them to fit on it comfortably. It’s not like they weren’t going to be sharing, anyway. Lambert hastily shrugs off his sword belt and props the twin swords against the wall by the bed, sloughs off his armor as quickly as he can and piles it haphazardly besides his swords, then turns back to the Witcher he left by the door. 

Coën is still standing right where he left him, swaying slightly under the weight of injury and exhaustion, golden eyes barely visible under heavy lids. He looks like he’s ready to collapse, mind long gone while his body is still keyed up and not yet able to let go. Part of this is the letdown from the potions he had taken prior to their latest fight, but not all. 

"I’m going to take care of you, _kochany_ ,” Lambert states as he closes the distance between them, letting his voice deepen into the soothing rumble that he knows Coën likes. 

Coën tilts his head just slightly, the only acknowledgement he is capable of in this state. Lambert takes it as permission to start peeling him out of his blood-and-dirt streaked armor. Coën’s hands come up and clumsily try to help, but the Wolf just pushes them out of the way gently. He doesn’t bother telling him to stop. Coën’s mind is not with him right now, the only thing he knows is routine, what his body thinks he should be doing. Trying to stop him would only cause confusion and upset. Lambert wants him to settle. 

As soon as he’s done removing the armor, Lambert takes a moment to cradle Coën to his chest and press a soft kiss to the crown of his bowed head. Coën doesn’t kiss back. He leans into the embrace, but Lambert is all too aware of how tense he is holding himself. 

“Easy, easy, I’ve got you. Just a little longer now, and you can rest.” 

With a last kiss to his companion’s temple, Lambert gently steers him over to the bed and sits him down. As he kneels on the floor in front of Coën – pointedly ignoring his knees’ creaks of complaint - he keeps up a low, steady patter of nonsense in his soothing rumble and resists the urge to lay his lover back onto the mattress. Although sleep is what his lover desperately needs right now, Coën isn’t ready just yet. Lambert reins in his impatience and gently tugs off muck-covered boots. He sets them aside for cleaning later. 

He’s reaching for the laces on Coën’s soiled shirt when there’s a knock on their door. Lambert flinches at the sound then silently berates himself for not having heard the approaching footsteps. Coën doesn’t react at all. Pushing himself to his feet, the Wolf crosses to the door and opens it to find the innkeeper on the other side holding a tray of food. Behind her are two girls holding two steaming buckets each. 

“May we come in, Master Lambert?” the innkeeper asks quietly. The girls are staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. 

Only then does Lambert realize that he’s been blocking the door, pulling himself to his full height and squaring his shoulders to fill the space up so nothing can get past him. More than that, he’s growling, too, a wolf’s instinct to protect a wounded mate. It’s no wonder the serving girls are scared, but the innkeeper just waits for his answer with a calm look on her face. 

Forcing himself to stand down – Coën needs the things they have brought, he cannot deny these to him – Lambert manages a short nod and steps out of the way. The innkeeper moves past him and sets the tray on the table before the hearth. The two girls quickly empty their buckets into the tub in the corner and scurry out the door. The innkeeper briefly glances over to where Coën sits placidly on the bed, not once showing he’s aware of the commotion around him, but turns her attention back to Lambert as he releases another warning growl. 

“I’ll make sure no one disturbs you. Please let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and don’t be in a rush to leave in the morning. This room is yours for as long as you need it.” 

She’s gone before Lambert can say anything. He stares at the shut door for a moment, wondering again how they have gotten so lucky as to find the one generous innkeeper in this part of the Continent. Helping Coën through this would be so much harder if they had to spend the night in the woods. Lambert’s natural cynicism tries to warn him that something bad will certainly follow such luck, but he ignores that bitter little voice for now. He has more important things to worry about. 

He goes to investigate the tray the innkeeper left behind. There’s a flagon of cool, clear water and enough food there for lunch and dinner, even for two hungry Witchers, and he doesn’t doubt that was the kindly woman’s intention. He’ll have to find a way to thank her properly, no matter what she says. Placing a small amount of the cheese, bread, and meat onto one of the plates, Lambert carries it and a cup of water over to the bed. 

He settles next to his exhausted lover, who is still sitting upright despite closed eyes and sunken posture. As soon as Lambert sits, though, Coën sags boneless against him, moving his head to hide in the folds of Lambert’s shirt. It is a beginning. He is starting to respond to things apart from those falling directly into his routine. With a small smile, Lambert looks down on his Griffin and makes sure to align him snugly to his side before taking up the plate. 

With soft words, he coaxes Coën to turn his head a little bit and take the first bite of cheese that he slips between his lips. Lambert doesn’t talk much beyond that while feeding him, just small, easy orders for Coën to follow, to open his mouth or to take a sip of the water. He doesn’t stop until the plate and cup are empty, doesn’t steal any bits for himself, even though he’s hungry as fuck. Another hour or two without food won’t kill him. 

Again, Lambert would really like to let the other man fall back onto the bed, but even with a full stomach, that isn’t going to happen yet. Coën’s asleep already, for all intents and purposes, but his mind still hasn’t caught up with that knowledge, and until it does, there is no hope for rest and relaxation. They have to keep to their established routine, at least for a little while longer. 

The next step is washing up then treating whatever wounds Coën has. Lambert extracts himself from Coën and gently prods him over to the bath. The older Witcher follows him willingly, pliable under the sure, steady hands that guide him. Clothes are tugged at while Coën jerks his head in a vague down and forward manner. He is trying to get out of his shirt. The splash of water while Lambert swishes his hand through it to test the temperature has given his instincts another thing to respond to. He isn’t succeeding, though, far too clumsy with exhaustion to be anything other than ineffective, but Lambert is there to help. 

Coën grumbles faintly once they’ve managed to get him undressed. Like all Witchers, he is self-sufficient in all things, and unless he’s being undressed for decidedly different reasons, he doesn’t care to be babied. It’s a shadow of his usual self, but it’s there, and Lambert smiles in relief. He carefully guides his lover down into the steaming water and settles him against the back of the tub. At first, Coën flails his arms around a bit, trying to wash himself, Lambert having to duck out of the way to avoid a hit to his nose. Lambert catches his arms in a soft, but unbreakable grip and moves his arms to rest on his drawn up knees. After that and some more of the deep rumble, Coën abandons himself to his lover’s care. 

Using soap that Jaskier insisted on gifting him with the last time he’d seen him, Lambert proceeds to wash Coën with thorough attentiveness. From the toe to tip, every bit of the body in the tub is softly scrubbed of blood and grime until nothing is left but clean, sweet-smelling skin. The soft, repetitive strokes of the washcloth seem to reach Coën, and he leans a little into each touch as offered. 

Anyone else Lambert knows would never believe how gentle, how caring he can be, even if they were standing in the room with him now and watching him tend to Coën. But, though he can still be a proper asshole when he needs to be, he has changed in the past few years. Aiden … Aiden’s death had broken him in ways that not even killing the bastard who’d murdered him could fix. Lambert had drifted aimlessly for months after leaving Geralt to sort out the dead Cat’s body, and more than once, he’d contemplated letting one contract or another end his misery. In the end, though, his natural stubbornness intervened, and he had kept on trudging along until Coën had found him. 

The Griffin Witcher had heard about his loss, and for whatever reason, had decided to help him. Coën is the one who brings Lambert out of the depths of his grief, little by little, one patient step at a time. Under his care, Lambert settles into a quieter, though still prickly, demeanor, and the two of them eventually come to an understanding, a bond that only grows stronger as they begin to travel and take contracts together. It eventually blossoms into a romantic and physical relationship, something that terrifies Lambert on some nights, because if he loses Coën, too, he knows that he will be irrevocably lost himself. 

Because if that ever happens, he _will_ find a contract to kill him, stubborn nature or not. 

But he had wanted to give back to the man who had given him back himself, so Lambert had watched the Griffin Witcher obsessively, something that Coën tolerated fairly well most of the time, making sure to pay attention to anything that seems to cause the older man any kind of stress. He didn’t find much for the longest time. 

Coën is just as, if not more so, even-tempered than Eskel, and he spends far more time talking and laughing than any of the remaining Wolf Witchers, a benefit of growing up in the School of the Griffin where being able to comport yourself well in various courts was part of the training. His gentle, soothing manner made most of their clients almost forget they were talking to Witchers at all, and they got paid more fairly more often than Lambert could ever remember from his earlier, solitary years on the Path, even with Geralt’s bard doing his damndest to change the popular opinion about Witchers. 

But finally, Lambert had found something that he, and only he, could help Coën overcome, and he considered himself privileged to be able to do so. Every so often, when Coën has overextended himself, his Witcher survival instincts kept him from realizing that the fight was over and he could finally get the rest his body was begging him for. This was even more likely to happen if he’s had to use far more magic than he normally would. Under these circumstances, it becomes Lambert’s job to gently ease him through the routines his body knows as his mind struggles to slow down and help him find his peace. 

It had scared the shit out of Lambert the first time this had happened. He hadn’t known what needed doing, and he’d nearly lost Coën when the older man had gone missing after he’d thought he’d put him safely to bed. If not properly settled, Coën sleep-walks, and Lambert had been lucky to find him curled up beside a lake instead of _in_ it. Since then, he’s kept a careful eye on his lover when things got difficult, and he used the knowledge Coën had given him to keep him safely at his side. 

And not just to keep him safe, but to make him feel cared for. Picking up the soap once again, he works the thin suds over Coën’s scalp. His fingers massage against the bare skin for a short while, because even if his lover didn’t have hair, it didn’t mean it didn’t feel good, before carefully rinsing it all away. Coën makes a tiny, barely audible sound, a faint copy of the contented purr he made whenever Lambert did something that made him feel good, and pressed ever so slightly more into the welcome touch. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” he whispers against his lover’s ear, pressing a tiny kiss against the lobe, “that’s exactly right. Relax for me and let go. Let me take care of you.” 

Coën turns his head enough to nuzzle clumsily into Lambert’s beard. Lambert kisses him again then encourages him to stand. It won’t be long now, and he wants to be as close to the bed as possible before it does. He helps Coën step over the rim of the tub and towels him dry with swift but soft efficiency. He doesn’t bother with trying to redress him. He does take the time to search the quiescent body before him for any injury. Fortunately, the wounds Coën’s received are minor and will fade on their own by tomorrow evening. 

"Lam..ert?” 

A single word, a soft exhale, and suddenly Lambert has his arms full of dead weight Witcher. He catches him easily, arms and chest supporting the other man’s weight with ease. Coën automatically curls closer into his warmth and strength, and Lambert adjusts slightly to settle him more comfortably in his embrace. 

"That's it,” he praises softly. “You can rest now. I’ve got you.” 

At the permissive words, Coën goes even more slack for a moment, but then he rallies just enough to mutter into Lambert’s shirt. 

“chil-dr’n?” 

And that is so typical of the man, always more concerned for others than himself, no matter what state he’s in. It’s one of the reasons Lambert loves him so much. 

“They’re all safe at home with their families. You did it, _kochany_ , you saved them all. Sssh, rest now.” 

With that reassurance whispered into his ear, Coën finally, finally lets go and falls into a restful, healing sleep. Lambert hoists him up and carries him to the bed. Lowering him down to the matters, he gingerly tugs at the blankets until he has them draped over Coën instead of under him. The Griffin makes a tiny sound of contentment and shuffles deeper into the blankets, one hand stretching out. 

He’s looking for him, Lambert knows, and he doesn’t keep him waiting long. Skinning out of his clothes with the same speed he’d shed his armor earlier and just as uncaring where they landed, he peels back the blankets long enough to get comfortable underneath and reaches out to pull Coën close. Lambert is still hungry and could use a bath himself, but it isn’t as important as tucking Coën’s head under his chin and wrapping his arms around the sturdy chest so that Coën’s entire body is anchored firmly to his. 

Tomorrow will be time enough for food and baths, and they will have that time thanks to the kindness of a stranger. They will eat the food left for them, and if Lambert is lucky, he’ll be able to convince Coën to rest until the next day. It might not even take that much effort. Coën hates these little episodes and how helpless he is during them. A day of rest is a small price to pay to keep it from happening again any time soon. 

And if Lambert manages to get a message off to one of his brothers requesting their assistance, so much the better. 

Plans made, mate held securely in his protective embrace, Lambert lets go himself and follows his love into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please let me know. Kudos and comments are always a treat and keeps the muse happy. Thank you!
> 
> Update 10/11/2020: Changed the title to fit in with a poem by ee cummings that I want to use for titles in this series. This is the first one. The others will be here, hopefully soon!
> 
> Update 10/13/202: Thanks to WinchesterofMidgard for pointing out my mishap in Polish. I've fixed it, and many thanks again!


End file.
